We've Gotta Get Outta Here

Somebody shit on the bathroom floor. Less than two hours after signing my life away to this brick-a-brack factory I call work, my gentle and elderly co-worker, Raghib, informed me that someone has been making open-faced turd sandwiches on tile. I don't know if this makes me want to reneg on my contract, asking for some serious hazard pay, or if it makes me feel more comfortable - knowing that if someone can defecate at will here, then I can make it anywhere. It's like the worst possible version of a Frank Sinatra song, but at least now I understand the "Rat Pack" moniker.